


That Sweet Minor Zest

by Brenda



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Extended Universe, DCU, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And Clark Figuring Bruce Out, And These Two Nerds Getting Their Shit Together, Arguing About Sex During Sex, As you do, Because Bruce Can't Make Anything Simple, Bruce Has Issues, But Mostly Ridiculousness, Clark Is A Romantic Sap, Kink Meme, Light Angst, M/M, POV Clark, Porn with Feelings, Post-Justice League (2017), Saying I Love You Without Actually Saying I Love You, and sex, so many issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 18:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: A fill for thisDCEU Kink Meme prompt:Clark is (Super)experienced at topping - bonus for a Bruce who's inexperienced at anal/ has only ever done intercrural/oral- with bonus Bruce control-freak issues, Clark pining during sex, and an eventual happy (heh) ending.(Title courtesy of John Keats)





	That Sweet Minor Zest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [susiecarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [That Sweet Minor Zest/那甜蜜而撩人的柔情](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16495970) by [LilithR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilithR/pseuds/LilithR)



> Written as a belated birthday gift for Susie - who continues to be the best cheerleader in the world and a great friend and without whom I wouldn't be writing in this fandom at all, so really, this is all her fault. <333

It wasn't until Clark had two slick fingers scissoring deep inside Bruce's ass that the niggling sense of _this is wrong_ swept over him. There was no tangible reason for it, nothing that he could put his finger on – just a sudden hunch, tugging like a loose thread, telling him some indefinable _thing_ wasn't right. And Clark might not be Bruce, with Bruce's razor-sharp instincts and well-honed deductive skills, but he'd been a reporter long enough to pay attention when that voice started clamoring at him. To trust that gut feeling above everything else, even what the rest of his senses were telling him was true.

He slowed his movements, over Bruce's indistinct complaint, and sat back on his haunches – putting just enough distance between him and Bruce so he could think past the lust and need fogging his brain. And the feeling, far from lessening, only got stronger. Something – _something_ about this moment was off. Clark just needed to figure out what it was.

It wasn't the setting. The sheets under them were rumpled and sticky, but the lake breeze coming in from the open sliding glass door was nice and cool, stirred the air just enough to keep the temperature from being uncomfortably clammy. The dying rays of the setting sun cast a golden glow over the decadently big bed, drenched the room in coruscating shades of the palest rose and softest yellow – nature itself rearranging its molecules to its most pleasing form to create a scene fit for a king or a god. 

Bruce especially looked like one of the gods of old – muscled and sinuous and sleek, deceptively languorous and all the more dangerous because of it. Tendrils of light played over the faded white of his numerous scars and the purpling-green bruises from the previous night's patrol, each mark a badge of honor, a testament to Bruce's strength and will. His powerful thighs were splayed open in the most erotic of invitations, his ass lifted just enough so Clark's fingers could slide in that much deeper. His wide shoulders and dark chest hairs were matted with sweat, his breaths – normally so even and measured – were unsteady with exertion. White flecks of come dotted his rock-hard abs from their earlier round, the two of them jerking each other off hard and rough to take the edge off, and Clark could still taste the bitter tang in the air, the musky scents of arousal and Bruce filling his lungs until it overwhelmed even his acute sense of smell. 

And the afternoon had certainly started on a familiar enough note, with the two of them in the Cave poring over the vast reams of Lex Luthor's encrypted files and attempting to compile them into some kind of sequential order. (Clark had been more shocked than anything else when Bruce had initially asked for his assistance, but he'd realized early on that Bruce liked having someone to bounce ideas and hypotheses off of, someone who could keep up with his lightning-fast brain.) And there was something about trading wits with Bruce that reved Clark up to a hundred in no time flat – maybe it was the way Bruce constantly pushed him to think faster, harder, smarter, or maybe it was getting a chance to see how formidable Bruce could be even without the million-dollar Batsuit or endlessly inventive gadgets – but their times together almost always ended with the them naked on whatever flat surface happened to be nearby.

And today, Clark reminded himself, Bruce had been the one to initiate things. He hadn't even waited until they were both cross-eyed and bleary from going over numbers and in need of a distraction, sniping at each other until one of them (usually Clark) snapped and they were on each other, frantic and desperate, fighting in an entirely more satisfactory way. In fact, they'd barely been down in the Cave for an hour before Bruce had glanced at him, sidelong and _just_ this side of condescending, the sight of it tugging at Clark's control until all he wanted was to wipe that smirk off of Bruce's lips, preferably by sticking his dick down Bruce's throat until he was choking on it.

 _So, it occurred to me that you haven't fucked me yet_ , Bruce had said, light and conversational, like they were discussing nothing more interesting than the weather. _Any particular reason why or do you just not think you're up for it?_

And Clark, who hadn't even been aware he'd _had_ a competitive, alpha streak until he'd met Bruce and butted up against all of that carefully controlled arrogance, had only been too eager to comply. To strip Bruce out of his well-tailored suit and lay him on his Egyptian cotton sheets and lay claim to every part of Bruce's body he could with his lips and teeth and tongue.

Which Bruce had counted on, he realized, with a sudden burst of clarity. Counted on and calculated on and...honestly, Clark wasn't even sure why he was surprised that Bruce would have had a meticulously well-thought out plan to get Clark to fuck him. This was _Bruce_. The man who'd perfected the art of subterfuge. Whose every word was always infused with double and triple meanings, every interaction filled with secret agendas. Simply asking for something would have never even occurred to him. 

If this _was_ even something Bruce wanted, and not just something he was doing because he thought it would make Clark happy. Before today, Bruce had never even hinted that he was interested in anal sex, either giving or receiving, so why now? What had changed Bruce's mind?

"Bruce," Clark started, surprising even himself with the roughness of his voice, "are you...do you want...um, this? I mean" – he nodded vaguely downward – " _this_."

Heavy-lidded eyes blinked open, the frown at odds with the faint flush on Bruce's cheeks. "You're asking me _now_?" he said, disbelieving and slightly breathless.

"You're right, I'm sorry." Clark chuckled, reassured, and silently chastised himself. Why was he making this a thing? Bruce was _fine_. Everything was fine. He was overreacting, Bruce's paranoia seeping into his bones without him even noticing –

He twisted his fingers, to ease the awkwardness of the angle from holding them in one place for so long, and that was when he saw it. So slight it would have been undetectable to human eyes, so faint that even Clark, with his heightened eyesight, almost missed it. The barest flinch, Bruce's face caught, just for an instant, in discomfit, not pleasure –

He went completely still, his earlier suspicions that something was off skyrocketing up his spine until he was almost paralyzed with it. Bruce had never shown an interest in anal before today. Bruce had manipulated Clark to get them here instead of asking Clark to fuck him. Bruce had just flinched when Clark had pushed his fingers in deeper. Bruce, who would rather face torture than admit even a hint of vulnerability...

Wait. It _couldn't_ be that simple, could it? Nothing with Bruce was ever simple. 

"Have you..." Clark cleared a suddenly dry throat. "Have you ever...done this before?"

Bruce raised his head, the silver at his temples glinting in the light, as his lips thinned out, annoyance writ large across his face. "Do you always wait until you're knuckle-deep in someone before you ask stupid questions, or am I just unlucky?"

If Clark was a different sort of man, he would have curled up into himself under the withering force of Bruce's glare. But he held his ground, kept his gaze steady. "It's important."

"For the love of..." Bruce knocked his head back against the pillow, then sighed up at the ceiling. "No," he finally said, practically a growl. "Not with another person."

Clark had an instant, crystal-clear mental image of Bruce, feet flat on the mattress, hips canting upwards as he pushed a dildo or vibrator deep in his ass, and had to take a steadying breath. Not the time, not the time, he repeated to himself, until he wasn't quite so dizzy with lust.

"You happy now?" Bruce continued, peevish and still ridiculously hot. "Can we continue?"

"Just...give me a minute to..." Clark shook his head to clear it. This was important. Bruce had never...which meant he thought Clark was...he was _trusting_ Clark with...that he'd thought _Clark_ worthy of such a gift was –

Jeez, okay, wow. Maybe he was going to need more than a second to process this.

"Bruce," he murmured, overcome. He'd never even dared to hope for a declaration as bold as this, even in the innermost recesses of his heart. 

"Clark, it doesn't..." Bruce's brows scrunched, fine lines appearing between them, as he looked up at Clark with an inscrutable expression. "It doesn't mean anything."

"It doesn't?"

"It's..." Bruce, always so sure, always at least a dozen steps ahead of everyone else, seemed to fumble for words, until he gave up and settled for his usual stone-faced scowl. "It just seemed the next logical step, that's all."

The burgeoning euphoria (that this had meant – that Bruce had finally been ready to admit that he was...that they were –) evaporated in an instant. The next _logical_ step. What the hell was that even supposed to _mean_? Like this – the two of them here together, Bruce's invitation, the earlier handjob, Clark's fingers _still_ deep inside Bruce – was just another task. An item Bruce was checking off on his never-ending to do list. 

He could feel his cheeks suffuse with mortification, the capillaries expanding until he was sure his face was beet-red all over, as he hastily pulled his fingers out of Bruce's body and put both of his hands on his thighs. 

"Do you...even _want_ this?" The question spilled out, almost as if it was coming from somewhere outside of him. All of his earlier doubts crept back in like shadows, casting him into the dark.

Bruce just snorted, like Clark had asked a particularly stupid question. "What, you think I'd let you force me into something I didn't want?"

"That's not an answer," Clark snapped back, when what he really wanted to say was, _you_ couldn't _stop me and we both know it_. It was obvious Bruce was trying to pick a fight in order to deflect Clark's question, and Clark would be damned if he'd oblige. He'd already allowed Bruce to manipulate him once today, he wouldn't make the same mistake again. 

"And I'd appreciate some honesty," he added, because, frankly, at this point, he wouldn't put it past Bruce to try to lie to him.

The annoyed eye roll morphed into a carefully blank expression, and that was answer enough before Bruce opened his mouth, offering a wry, self-deprecating twist of lips. "Then, the truth is, I don't know."

"Which is why you tried to trick me into –"

"I think _trick_ is a little harsh –"

"I'm not arguing over word choice with you."

"Fine," Bruce bit out through clenched teeth, but that wasn't a denial. Not by a longshot. 

Which...pretty much cemented what Clark had been thinking earlier. Bruce's need to control his environment and everything around him was never more apparent than when he was unsure of his surroundings or circumstances. And this? Allowing another person inside of him, letting someone slip past his guard to glimpse at the core of him? No, Bruce would want to be in charge of every second of this, would have planned the evening down to the smallest detail with the same attention that he gave to all of his missions. 

And, to think he'd thought – he'd actually thought – that Bruce might've wanted this because he wanted _Clark_ to be his first... Well, he had no one but himself to blame for his naïvety.

He nodded, clamping down on the hurt and bitterness until he thought he could control himself enough to speak. "Let me see if I have this right. You're just...you're doing this...because you think it's something we need to...check off?" 

Bruce, of course, just arched an eyebrow towards Clark's still achingly hard, traitorous cock. "You trying to tell me you don't _want_ to fuck me?"

"Yes, of course I do," Clark replied, even though he'd thought he'd been pretty transparent about it. 

"Then what's the problem?" Bruce asked, all nonchalance, like all of this was some bizarre boardroom negotiation tactic.

"What's the _problem_?" Clark asked, incredulity raising his voice. " _Seriously_?"

Disappointment and shame churned in his gut, settled like lead. Bruce knew full fucking well what the problem was. The _problem_ was that he was just as susceptible to Bruce's machinations as the next human, and wasn't that...wasn't he supposed to be _better_? Wasn't that the entire reason why he was in Bruce's bed in the first place? Because Bruce wanted – no, because Bruce _deserved_ – someone just as remarkable as him, someone capable of being his equal on the battlefield and in bed?

(Although, if that was truly the case, Clark reasoned, in the small part of his brain still capable of rational thought, Bruce would be with Diana, not him. Diana was everything Clark wasn't – brilliant and bold and sure of her place in the world, sure of her place at Bruce's side. She was more than worthy to match Bruce beat for beat, on every level.)

"Clark," Bruce prompted, impatient, snapping Clark out of self-pity and back to the present. 

"Well, I...the problem is, I prefer my partners to be just as enthusiastic as I am, not –" He stopped, and gestured at Bruce, still spread out before him like all of Clark's wildest fantasies, the living embodiment of temptation. "Well, I mean, you don't look...I mean, you look amazing, but...I only want to do this if you do, too."

 _I only want this if it means as much to you as it does me_ , he didn't – he couldn't – say. Not even Superman possessed that sort of unabashed courage, to lay himself so bare, before another person. Before _Bruce_. In this, he was as distressingly vulnerable and human as everyone else on this planet.

Bruce, even though he was naked and flat on his back, still managed to give Clark a regally imposing glower that would have flayed a lesser man to ribbons. "If I haven't been enthusiastic enough for you, you should have just said so."

"You know that's not...I'm just...why now?" He didn't think he'd tried to pressure Bruce in any way, or intimated that he thought their sex life up to this point was lacking, but maybe Bruce had mistaken some throwaway remark for –

Bruce made as if to roll off the bed entirely. "Look, if you don't want me –"

Clark placed a hand on Bruce's chest to hold him in place, the touch light but implacable. Under his fingers, he could feel the way Bruce's sore ribs were slowly knitting themselves back together, the molecules coalescing atom by atom into a new whole. The heart beating under his palm was rapid, but steady. "I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying?" Bruce asked, searching Clark's face for God only knew what.

Clark hoped he found it. Hoped that they could salvage something in this wreck of a conversation. "Your first time...it should mean something," he tried again, and was cut off this time by Bruce's impatient scoff.

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" The contempt was palpable, pulsed between them like a living thing. "I'm not some starry-eyed teenager, Clark, I don't expect a proposal just because I'm letting you fuck me –"

Clark reared back, stung. "I'm not – that's _not_ what I –"

But Bruce was still talking, every word clipped, controlled, and blindingly furious, "– I may be human, but you don't have to treat me like I'll break whenever we're together. I'm not made of fucking glass." 

Made of glass? Was _that_ what this had been about? Bruce thinking that Clark thought him _weak_? Clark inwardly sighed, disappointed with himself yet again that he'd been too distracted by Bruce's...well...his everything, really, to figure out Bruce's true agenda. He knew – of course he did – how much Bruce hated that he was the only so-called human among their group. How much it chafed at him that he wasn't imbued with extra strength or speed, or that he wasn't in possession of immortality or invulnerability or any other alien or god-like or meta-human qualities.

Clark had no idea how to tell him that Bruce was all the more remarkable _because_ he wasn't enhanced in any way. He had no idea how to convey that everything that made Bruce the most remarkable and dangerous and beautiful person Clark had ever known was precisely because he'd had to work so much harder than anyone else to _be_ the hero Gotham needed. 

The fact that Bruce had been protecting his beloved city for over two decades using nothing more than his brilliant mind and the skills he'd painstakingly cultivated through so much time and effort...that was the biggest miracle Clark could imagine. That Bruce had – mostly – stayed a good man and uncorrupted soul for twenty years, all due to his indomitable will and the core belief in his heart that he could _make_ the world a better place if he just applied himself hard enough... How could Clark _not_ be helplessly enthralled? How could he – a creature who needed sunlight as fuel for his powers – _not_ be drawn in by the burning flame that was Bruce's entire being?

Everything about Bruce was extraordinary precisely because he was only human.

But, how to tell Bruce that in a way that wouldn't insult Bruce's considerable pride?

This was a test, he realized. It had always been a test. Of Clark's stamina or patience or his own deductive skills, he wasn't sure, but the what wasn't the point. The why was far more important, and had far more serious consequences.

(Of course, he'd hoped – he'd really hoped – that they'd left that behind when they'd started sleeping together, but that had probably been his first mistake. Bruce could no more stop testing the people around him than he could put down the cowl.)

"Tell me the truth," he finally said, deliberately making his voice as gentle as he could, because the last thing he wanted to do was make Bruce think this was an order. "Why do _you_ want to do this?"

All of the fight seemed to drain out of Bruce like a balloon deflating. He scooted back until he was leaning up against one of the pillows, and raked a hand through sweat-damp hair. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world than where he was, and somehow, it made Clark feel better. At least he wasn't the only one back on his heels.

"Like I said, it seemed...like the logical next step," Bruce said, gazing at a distant point past Clark's ear. "A man – someone – like you, well, you wouldn't be content with blowjobs and rutting between my thighs forever –"

"Sure I would," Clark interrupted, because _what_?

Bruce's eyes, long-lashed and wide, flickered to his in surprise. "Come again."

"I said, sure I would," Clark repeated, and risked putting a hand on Bruce's knee. "I mean, if we're both enjoying ourselves, why would I mind? That's what sex should be, right? Us enjoying each other?"

"But, what we've...it hasn't been sex," Bruce replied, although he sounded a lot less certain than he had a moment ago.

"It...what?" This was definitely not going the way Clark thought it would.

"No, it's...you know it hasn't." Bruce said it all slow, like he was just waiting for Clark to catch up to him. If so, he was going to be waiting an eternity, because, for once, Clark was the slowest man in the room.

"Maybe this is a human thing, but are you suggesting that what we've been doing together...that it isn't sex, because...?" Clark trailed off, expectant.

Bruce's thunderous frown would have looked adorable under any other circumstances. "What we've been doing is foreplay."

"Wow, _okay_ , that's...new." Clark huffed out a small laugh, his thumb tracing over the angry knife scar running up the inside of Bruce's right ankle. To think he'd been so caught up in his own perceived failings that he'd missed this. He'd missed a lot, apparently. 

"You know," he said, "it's almost comforting to know that – no matter how brilliant and tactical you are – you _don't_ actually know everything." 

How could any one person be so brilliant and yet so clueless at the same time? he wondered. But it was precisely that dichotomy that made Bruce so fascinating.

Bruce's frown morphed into an equally adorable scowl. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, whoever it was who told you it's only sex if you stick your dick in something was an idiot who didn't deserve you," Clark said, careful not to break into the grin he could feel trying to tug free. Bruce would take it the wrong way, and that was the last thing he wanted. "And, just so we're clear, everything we've been doing up to now has been great. Really great. I don't _need_ to put my dick in your ass. Or you to put your dick in mine."

Bruce's lips curved up into a small smile. "You really need to work on your dirty talk," he commented. 

"That's more your area of expertise than mine," Clark replied, relieved beyond measure that they could find some amusement in this.

Bruce's gaze raked over Clark, from the mussed sweep of his bangs down to his still hard cock, the look as physical as any caress. "I suppose it wouldn't be amiss if I gave you a few pointers."

Clark's body, predictably, tightened in response. "I look forward to it," he replied, with his own look that swept over Bruce from head to toe. "But you've already been the most generous lover I've ever had. I think it's well past time you let me return the favor."

Bruce's mouth opened, then snapped shut so quickly it would have been comical under any other circumstances. "You..." He seemed to run out of words altogether, and settled for staring at Clark out of puzzled, wary eyes.

"If you want this – if anal sex with me is something you'd like to explore – of course I'm willing," Clark continued, and skimmed the hard curve of Bruce's calf with a gentle touch. "But not if it's just a box you're ticking off."

"So you'd...you're not bored?" Bruce asked, carefully, with that same wary look on his face.

How long had it been since anyone other than Alfred had put Bruce's needs completely first? Since he'd been shown even a hint of kindness and true compassion? Since anyone had told him, _what you want matters_. Clark didn't have any answers, and this wasn't the time to ask those questions. He couldn't tear down the walls Bruce had spent years building in a single night, or erase all of the heartbreak and rage that made Bruce the formidable man he was. All he could do now was show Bruce that life still offered so much more than just the mission – there was also joy and passion and happiness – and hope he'd figure the rest out on his own.

"I'm not anywhere even close to being bored," he stated aloud, infusing each word with all the sincerity he could muster. "Even if you – even if we don't – sex isn't something you need to prove." 

"It is in my experience," Bruce replied, like it was a simple matter of fact. Which was tragic in its own way.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing for both of us that I'm not your usual experience." Clark's fingers trailed up, parting coarse hairs to plot a light course along Bruce's thigh. "Do you like what we've been doing up to now?"

"Yes," Bruce admitted, his breath hitching ever-so-slightly, letting down the barrier between them enough so Clark could see the truth in it. (And the fact that Bruce _was_ allowing Clark in was the biggest endorphin rush he could think of, the best aphrodisiac in the world.)

"And you'd like to explore more? With me?" Clark pressed, letting instinct guide him now.

"Yes." Bruce dropped his gaze down to Clark's hand, slowly and steadily moving up his leg. "I'm...I don't know how else to show you that I...I'm not very good with words." He sighed, like it was something to be ashamed of.

Clark smiled, the rush of affection cascading through him so overwhelming it would drown him if he wasn't careful. And, right now, careful was the last thing either of them needed. They'd tiptoed around each other long enough.

"That's not entirely news, you know." He leaned forward to brush their mouths together, catching Bruce's slight gasp. "I don't need the the words," he murmured. "And I don't need you to prove anything to me. I'm not going anywhere, not now, not ever. But if this is something you _want_ , then I have a favor to ask."

"Of course you do," Bruce muttered, but his look was a quietly pleased one that was, by far, Clark's favorite of the day.

"Relax, and let me take care of you, for once," he said, aware he was asking for a lot more than that. He was sure Bruce could hear every bit of devotion and admiration lacing through his words, but he didn't bother to try to temper the tone. Let Bruce see, he thought. Let there finally be truth between them. 

Bruce sighed, but nosed at Clark's jaw, the bristles of his unshaven cheek catching on Clark's skin. "You really just want to seduce me, don't you?"

"I really really do," he answered, and turned his head, melting into the next kiss, and the next one after that. Under him, Bruce arched, but his mouth softened against Clark's, relaxed on a wordless sigh.

For Bruce, that was as much a declaration as a flowery speech.

"Lie back," Clark instructed, between kisses. "Let me make you feel good." 

"If you insist," Bruce conceded, but belied the words by stretching under Clark, all sinuous lethal grace and indescribable beauty. Suddenly, it was hard to focus past the deep-seated urge to possess, to claim Bruce as _his_.

He fumbled with the cap to the lube as he re-slicked his fingers. He slid one back into Bruce's ass, allowed the smile to blossom when Bruce just canted his hips up in invitation. "You are beautiful like this," he commented, lightly, before bending his head to flick his tongue along the sensitive nub of Bruce's nipple. 

Bruce went rigid, then curved up into him, a concave parentheses that set Clark's blood pumping anew. He made his way down Bruce's body, licking and nipping at several points – an old gunshot wound, another pockmarked scar that had never fully healed, claw marks and welts and too many broken bones and torn muscles, all courtesy of a lifetime of service and sacrifice. _When was the last time you let yourself be happy?_ Clark wondered, even as he gorged himself on Bruce's moans and salty, smoky taste. _When was the last time you allowed yourself to lose control?_

Bruce clamped down on Clark’s shoulders, nails digging deep crescents into invulnerable skin. "Clark," he gasped, ragged and fraught, and the sweetest of symphonies to Clark's sensitive ears. " _Clark..._ "

He sounded wounded, shocked, almost like he was surprised by his own body's reactions. Clark wanted nothing more in the galaxy than to be the cause of every one of Bruce's moans and sighs. Wanted to be the only shelter Bruce would ever need. "That's it," he murmured, adding another finger, curling them both up against Bruce's prostate. "That's it...you feel so good, you're perfect..."

He kept up his litany of praise as Bruce arched under his tongue and lips, everywhere they touched blazing a fire that threatened to incinerate Clark from the inside out. Need wound a slippery ribbon around his ribs, pulling taut, choking him in desire. He wanted to imprint every moment on his soul, what this felt like, so he'd never forget. What _Bruce_ felt like, tasted like, the rasp of Bruce's ragged breaths, the way his skin pebbled under Clark's every caress.

He was yanked upwards by impatient hands, and Bruce's lips covered his, the kiss hard and insistent and wild. Clark could taste Bruce's desperation, the very particles of space and time coalescing into a new pattern that was all theirs, and he returned the kiss, giving no quarter and seeking none. If Bruce didn't want to be treated like he was breakable, then the least Clark could do was grant his wish.

Bruce's tongue rubbed against Clark's as he bucked against Clark's fingers. They moved together, synchronous, the twin scents of arousal and sweat filling the air until Clark was all but choking on it, groaning low in his throat as he added a third finger, praying he wasn't moving too fast.

"Bruce," he mumbled, clumsy with need and yearning, thumbing at a droplet rolling along Bruce's temple. "Are you..."

Further words were lost when Bruce blinked open his eyes, bright and golden, looking up at Clark like _Clark_ was the miracle. " _Fuck_ ," Bruce swore, low and ragged, clenching around Clark's fingers like he never wanted to let go. "Please... _please_..."

"Tell me," Clark begged, well beyond thoughts of teasing or asserting his control. He wasn't sure if he'd ever had control, and that no longer seemed to matter, not with the oblivion Bruce's body promised.

"In me," Bruce managed, tilting his head back to bare his throat, and wasn't that invitation enough?

Clark spilled more lube on the sheets in his haste to coat his cock, but it was worth it when he sank down into slick, tight heat. Bruce was as hot as a furnace, as tight as a drum, and nothing – _nothing_ – in this world or any other could ever compare with finally being inside Bruce for the first time.

Clark set a steady pace, rocking forward, hips flexing in time to the rhythm of Bruce's heartbeat, the rhythm of their breaths. Bruce clung to his shoulders, curved into him with all the grace of a dancer, every particle of skin fused where they touched, small moans spilling from those kissably full lips. Clark moved, instinct taking over, every thrust another declaration, another promise. _Mine, yours, forever, I'm with you_.

Clark smoothed Bruce's bangs back from his forehead, smiled into the next kiss. Bruce returned it, their bodies meeting together, slick and perfect, as flawlessly in sync as always. "You good?" Clark murmured, in the afterthought of space between their lips.

Bruce's only answer was an impatient grunt, and a neat flip that landed Clark flat on his back, with Bruce looming over him, the setting sun burnishing his skin to bronze. "You tell me," Bruce said, breathless and flushed and _still_ the most arrogant person Clark had ever met, as he rocked his hips back and forth, pushing Clark even deeper inside his body. 

"You're...very good," Clark managed, then allowed his own smile to blossom, because it was damn nice – for once – to have the upper hand where Bruce was concerned. "But I think –" he grabbed two handfuls of Bruce's ass to spread him open and hold him still – "this should be –"

" _Fuck_ , Clark –"

"Just about perfect," Clark finished, planting his feet flat on the mattress so he could drive up, hard now, relentless, holding Bruce in place so every thrust was hitting _exactly_ the right angle.

Bruce tensed, muscles trembling with effort, then he all but melted, curling forward so their mouths could meet again, hot and unhurried and unbearably gentle now. "Like this," Clark whispered, mouthing at Bruce's jaw, and further words were lost as they moved together as one, finally on the same page.

***

Evening shadows had long since crept across the bed, casting the room into a silver-blue hue, by the time Clark came back to himself. He stretched, drowsy and sated, and Bruce mumbled a wordless protest against Clark's shoulder at the movement. He was still draped completely over Clark like a living blanket, and the lethargy was every bit the same victory that the admittedly spectacular sex had been. Bruce so rarely allowed himself the luxury of true relaxation.

"How do you feel?" Clark asked, softly.

"Like I could sleep for a week." Bruce yawned, as if to cement the point, then raised his head to smile, tiny and tremulous, at Clark. "I suppose I owe you an apology."

"You don't owe me anything." Clark ran his hands along Bruce's back, slow and steady, enjoying the warmth and the play of muscle under slick skin. "I'm just glad you had a good time."

"A good time." Bruce shook his head, a rueful grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. "For someone who makes a living using their words, you have a gift for understatement."

"Well, sex should be fun, or why bother, right?"

"Because orgasms are nice?" Bruce guessed, lifting an eyebrow.

"They're great, but they're not the be all end all of sex either," Clark replied. "Making your partner feel good – _knowing_ what makes your partner feel good – that's the important thing. Laughter and intimacy and sharing joy with each other...that's what's important."

"I..." Bruce seemed like he wanted to say something else for a moment, but then he shook his head and returned the smile. "I suppose you're going to be completely insufferable about this from now on."

Even an hour ago, Clark might have bristled at the words, no matter how carelessly said. But now? Now he knew what Bruce looked like when he fully surrendered to his own need. Now he knew that Bruce had _chosen_ him, had _trusted_ him, out of all the people he'd known in his life, to share this vulnerable part of himself. Clark would never possess that sort of quiet courage, no matter how many world-ending threats he faced – he may be Superman, but Bruce would always be the _better_ man. 

"You're right," he replied, certain his joy was so palpable and all encompassing it could probably be felt on the international space station, "I am."

"I thought so," Bruce replied, doing his best long-suffering impression, but Clark could see underneath it now to the core of who Bruce was, his fierce loyalty and dogged devotion. 

He smiled, soft and patient and ridiculously, completely in love. "Thank you," he finally said, quietly. "For trusting me."

Bruce dipped his head, teased another kiss across Clark's lips, this one possessive and sure. "For the record, I'm...well, I'm glad I waited," he said, each word halting and all the more heartfelt because of it. "I'm...I'm glad it was you, Clark."

Clark felt the corners of his eyes prickle suspiciously, but he composed himself enough to offer a watery sort of smile that probably gave away everything he was feeling anyway. Which, for the first time, he didn't think Bruce would mind seeing it.

"Me too," he replied, and pulled Bruce in for another kiss, making a wordless declaration of his own.

***

**Author's Note:**

> I almost titled this Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time, but not even I'm that corny. :D
> 
> Thanks to [Steph](https://stephrc79.tumblr.com) for the beta - any remaining mistakes are on me.
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](https://brendaonao3.tumblr.com). :)


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